BETWEEN WORLDS - Chapter 16
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The history test slid across Azeil's desk, a plain white rectangle holding judgment he dreaded. Mrs. Washington hovered nearby, distributing papers throughout the classroom. His classmates' whispers and groans hinted at mixed outcomes, a curve of triumph and disappointment.
Azeil hesitated to flip the paper over. At Highland Prep, test returns followed a pattern, his mother's voice reminding him of preparation, his scores in the upper percentile, teachers noting his natural aptitude while ignoring his late-night study sessions.
"Go ahead," Mrs. Washington said, noticing his hesitation. "It won't bite." Her tone lacked both encouragement and reproach, simply assessing his delay.
With a steadying breath, Azeil turned the paper over: C+.
The red mark pulsed against the white paper, not failing but below his usual performance. Below it, Mrs. Washington noted: Strong memorization of facts. Limited critical analysis. See me.
The room tilted briefly as Azeil processed the assessment. He had studied meticulously at Highland, memorizing key dates and figures, outlining the narrative of American westward expansion, yet he had missed the mark.
"Everything okay?" Marcus asked, sliding into the desk beside him, his own test bearing a bold A-.
"Fine," Azeil replied automatically, a word insufficient for his turmoil. He resisted the urge to hide his test.
But Marcus already saw. "First C+? Washington's tests differ from what you're used to. Highland is about what. Langston focuses on why." Marcus's observation struck home. Azeil glanced at his paper again, noting the comment about limited critical analysis.
"A study group meets in the library on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Might help you understand her expectations," Marcus suggested. Weeks ago, this would have seemed absurd; study groups at Highland were social hierarchies disguising knowledge hoarding. But Marcus's offer provided straightforward assistance.
"Analysis papers need to be revised and resubmitted by Friday," Mrs. Washington announced. "Office hours today and tomorrow during lunch. Those below a B should consider attending."
Her gaze swept the room, briefly pausing on Azeil, not a challenge but a clear expectation. This wasn't Highland, where struggling students were directed to private tutors that strained his mother's budget. This was Langston, where improvement came through direct engagement.
As the bell rang, Azeil tucked the test away, not hiding it in shame but preserving it as evidence of a puzzle he needed new tools to solve.
"Library, Thursday," Marcus said, standing. "Three-thirty. Nia usually brings snacks." He grinned. "Though now that you two are a thing, maybe that's your job."
Azeil felt heat rise in his neck at the casual mention of his evolving relationship with Nia. After their photography outing and that perfect first kiss in her car, they'd settled into something neither fully defined nor dismissible.
"I'll think about it," Azeil replied, referring more to the study group than Marcus's teasing.
The hallway buzzed with Langston's between-class energy. Azeil felt the test in his folder like a physical weight. His phone vibrated, a text from Nia about lunch plans, but his thoughts stayed on the red C+ and its implications. This wasn't just an academic setback but a shift in expectations and values. He realized he'd been playing by Highland's rules, only to discover Langston had a different game entirely.
His mother would have precisely understood the assignment and expectations, mapping a path forward with defined steps. But she wasn't here to navigate for him.
This was terrain he had to map himself.
As Azeil headed to his next class, he decided to attend Mrs. Washington's office hours during lunch. Maybe, a thought once inconceivable, he would join the Thursday study group.
Another adjustment in a season of adaptation.
Mrs. Washington sat at her desk with a half-eaten sandwich next to her as she marked papers.
"Carter," she said without looking up. "I was hoping you'd stop by."
Azeil approached, test in hand. "I wanted to understand what I missed."
Mrs. Washington gestured to a chair, moving her lunch aside. As Azeil sat, she adjusted her glasses, focusing on his paper with genuine investment in his improvement.
"How did you prepare for this test?" she asked, her tone neutral.
"I read the chapters twice," Azeil explained. "Highlighted key details and made flashcards. I outlined the five major phases of westward expansion and memorized the justifications." He recognized how mechanical he sounded. "I memorized everything."
Mrs. Washington nodded. "Did you form any opinions about those justifications?"
Azeil hesitated. At Highland, opinions had no place in tests, only demonstrating knowledge.
"I... didn't think opinions mattered for a history test," he admitted.
Mrs. Washington's expression shifted, less disappointment, more recognition. "At Langston, historical facts are just the start. I want to know how you analyze those facts, identify patterns, and consider different perspectives."
She turned to his essay on Manifest Destiny, where he'd scored poorly despite detailing every fact. "You described the doctrine and its justifications well but didn't question assumptions or consider alternatives."
"That wasn't clear in the question," Azeil observed.
"It was to students from Langston," she replied. "We analyze history as competing interpretations, not fixed narratives." She leaned back, studying him. "Highland excels, but their approach isn't universal."
The assessment laid bare different methods, prompting Azeil to reflect.
"So memorization isn't enough?"
"Memorization is necessary but insufficient," she clarified. "Facts lay the foundation, but analysis builds the structure. Both matter."
She retrieved an anonymous student paper responding to the same prompt yet earning a higher grade. "Notice how it acknowledges the conventional narrative before examining contradictions. It questions who benefited from Manifest Destiny and considers indigenous perspectives absent in the textbook."
As Azeil scanned the paper, he recognized deeper engagement than his own work had demonstrated, not just recitation but genuine critical thinking, skills valued but differently applied at Highland.
"I understand," he said, realizing not defeat but recalibration.
Mrs. Washington nodded. "Many institutions adopt that method, excellent for standardized tests and traditional universities." She returned his paper. "But Langston encourages questioning dominant narratives and considering multiple perspectives, especially those excluded."
"My mother always said different tools for different tasks," Azeil recalled.
Mrs. Washington's expression softened. "Your mother was Elise Carter, wasn't she?" At Azeil's nod, she continued, "I only connected it when I checked records. She was legendary in debate, exceptional analytical skills."
"Did you know her?"
"I was a first-year teacher when she was a senior," Mrs. Washington said. "She challenged everything, not disrespectfully, but substantively. Always wanting to understand not just what happened but why and who told the story."
Azeil absorbed this image of his mother, different from the structured attorney who raised him. The woman Mrs. Washington described reflected the analytical approach he needed.
"I'd like to revise my essay," he said. "I want a more critical approach."
Mrs. Washington nodded, satisfaction flickering. "That's what I hoped to hear." She handed him a revision guide. "This outlines my expectations. I suggest joining the Thursday study group, several strong students participate."
"Marcus mentioned it."
"Marcus is my nephew," she said, pride evident. "He's questioned everything since he could talk. Drives his mother crazy, but makes him an excellent student."
This explained Marcus's earlier invitation, not random kindness, but recognition of intellectual kinship.
Before Azeil could respond, the warning bell rang.
"I've kept you from lunch," Mrs. Washington said, regret in her voice.
"It was worth it," Azeil agreed, packing up. "Thank you for clarifying my misunderstanding."
As he stood to leave, Mrs. Washington said, "Your mother adapted brilliantly from Langston to Howard University and then law school. Different environments, different expectations, but her core analytical skills served her well."
The message was clear, not comfort, but reassurance that adaptation was possible without losing previous strengths.
"I'll see you Thursday," he confirmed.
The lunch period was nearly over, but he felt lighter despite his empty stomach. The C+ wasn't judgment but redirection, not failure but adaptation, just another curve in his unexpected journey.
Exiting the hallway, he spotted Nia by his locker, brown paper bag in hand. Her expression brightened when she saw him.
"Figured you might be hungry," she said, extending the bag. "How was Washington?"
Azeil accepted the offering, warmth spreading in his chest. "Educational," he replied, the word layered with meaning. "I'm joining the Thursday study group."
"Good," Nia smiled, genuine pleasure evident. "I was hoping you would."
As they walked to their classes, Azeil realized something had shifted. At Highland, academic setbacks were hidden. At Langston, with Nia, Marcus, and Mrs. Washington, the C+ wasn't shameful, it was just part of his education.
As the final bell rang, Azeil anticipated their usual parting, a brief touch of hands, their hallway ritual. But today, Nia surprised him.
She glanced down the hall, noting the thinning crowd, then rose slightly on her toes. Her lips met his, the kiss brief but deliberate, not hidden, yet not for an audience, just genuine connection, warm and certain.
When she pulled back, her eyes lingered on his, a silent affirmation.
"See you after school," she said, her voice warm like her kiss.
"Yeah," Azeil replied, the word heavy with shared meaning.
As Nia disappeared into the stream of students, Azeil stood still, the warmth of her kiss contrasting with the cool lockers behind him. Only the final bell broke his reverie, setting him in motion toward class.
The revision guide rested in his folder beside the C+ paper, not failure, but a starting point; not rejection, but redirection.
Another day at Langston Hughes High School, where academics, basketball, and unexpected kisses taught him who he might become.
Thursday afternoon, Azeil approached the library expecting less than what he'd known. Highland Prep's library stood like a cathedral of learning, soaring ceilings, mahogany shelves lined with leather-bound volumes, study carrels equipped with the latest technology, three full-time librarians. Alumni funding meant any resource you needed appeared within days.
Langston's library had once been a classroom, expanded by knocking out a wall. Practical metal shelving showed years of use. Ms. Patterson, the sole librarian, worked from her desk near the entrance, helping a student wrestle with the microfiche reader.
Azeil paused, adjusting his expectations as he had since arriving at Langston. Different resources, different approaches, but the same fundamental purpose.
"Carter! Over here."
He followed the voice to a corner where three tables created a study island. Students clustered around, Marcus at one end, surrounded by notebooks and primary documents. Zoe's purple hair caught the light as she bent over complex equations. Two other students he recognized, Angela from English class, and DeShawn, one of Rashaad's friends from the step team, occupied the far side.
Nia sat in an empty chair, her history materials spread out and organized with color-coded tabs, revealing the methodical mind beneath her easy confidence.
"Wasn't sure you'd show," Marcus said, no accusation in his tone.
"Had to finish film study with Coach," Azeil replied, settling into the seat beside Nia. Her knee brushed his, a small, private acknowledgment.
"Film study? That what they call watching game footage now? Sounds scientific," Zoe said, glancing up from her equations.
"It kind of is," Azeil said, unpacking his materials. "Breaking down patterns, analyzing tendencies, finding weaknesses." He realized it wasn't so different from historical analysis, just different data.
"From sports analytics to history?" Nia asked, nodding toward his paper draft.
"Something like that," Azeil said. "Mrs. Washington helped me understand what she's looking for. It's different from Highland's approach."
"Highland," Angela said, the word carrying weight he couldn't quite read. "They have those study pods with built-in power outlets, right?"
Her curiosity seemed genuine, not resentful, just interested in a different world. At Highland, Azeil might have downplayed the resources to avoid seeming privileged. Here, with these students, honesty felt right.
"They do," he said. "Plus you can access private research databases from home. Research librarians will compile sources if you submit a request form."
"We've got three computers and a printer that works half the time," DeShawn said matter-of-factly, no bitterness in the observation.
"But Ms. Patterson will move mountains for you," Zoe added, fierce loyalty in her voice. "When I needed those engineering journals last semester, she worked the interlibrary loan system like she was breaking into Fort Knox."
As if summoned, Ms. Patterson appeared with a stack of photocopied articles. "Here are those sources you requested, Marcus. Couldn't get the original journals, but these should help."
"You're a miracle worker, Ms. P," Marcus said, genuine gratitude in his voice.
"Not miracles, just persistence," she replied, then turned to Azeil. "New addition to Thursday study group?"
"Azeil Carter," he said, the formal tone his mother had drilled into him for addressing school staff emerging automatically.
"Highland transfer," Marcus added. "Taking history with Aunt Dionne."
"Ah, Mrs. Washington," Ms. Patterson nodded knowingly. "She expects real analysis, not just regurgitation. These sessions should help." She studied Azeil for a moment, then returned to her desk, leaving him with the sense he'd been evaluated and found acceptable.
"Ms. Patterson seems..." Azeil began, searching for the right description.
"Terrifying? All-knowing? Secretly running the school?" Zoe offered.
"Resourceful," Azeil said finally. "Like she's determined to make things work despite the limitations."
"That's Langston in a nutshell," Angela said quietly. "Making things work with what we have."
Her words hit home. Not just about the school, but about the students, their approach to learning, to collaboration, to making the most of available resources instead of lamenting what they lacked.
"So," Marcus said, redirecting them toward their materials, "everyone's working on different subjects, but we function better as a group. Questions, feedback, occasional reality checks."
Azeil nodded, recognizing an approach that differed sharply from Highland's competitive isolation, where information was hoarded until after assignments were submitted.
"I'm revising my essay on westward expansion for Mrs. Washington," he said. "Need to dig deeper into critical analysis of the standard narrative."
"Perfect timing," Marcus said, sliding some of his photocopied articles toward Azeil. "I've got primary sources on indigenous perspectives during Manifest Destiny. Really challenges the textbook version."
The casual sharing surprised Azeil. At Highland, those sources would be guarded until after grades were posted. Here, Marcus offered them freely, as if collective understanding mattered more than individual advantage.
"I have some feminist analysis of frontier mythology too," Angela added, passing over a journal article. "Looks at how gender shaped both the reality and the narrative of westward expansion."
Azeil accepted both offerings, struck by this collaborative spirit. "Thank you. This is..."
"How it works here," Nia finished, noting his surprise. "We all do better when we share resources."
"Highland wasn't like that?" DeShawn asked, genuinely curious.
Azeil considered how to explain Highland's culture without sounding critical. "More individually focused," he said carefully. "Class rankings, quarterly GPA postings. Sharing information could hurt your position."
"Sounds exhausting," Zoe observed, not judgmentally but analytically.
"It was," Azeil admitted, surprised by his own honesty. "Always calculating what to share, what to keep back, what each assignment meant for your overall rank."
"Rank for what?" Angela asked.
"College admissions, ultimately," Azeil said. "Everything geared toward building the perfect transcript, the perfect application narrative."
The group exchanged glances, some silent communication he couldn't fully decode. Marcus spoke first, thoughtful rather than dismissive.
"We care about college too," he said. "But maybe our approach is different. We collaborate because we know we're starting with fewer advantages."
"My sister got into Howard through a group project," DeShawn added. "Five students, one research paper. Admissions committee said their teamwork demonstrated more sophisticated thinking than individual work would've shown."
Another perspective shift, different paths to the same goal, collaboration over competition, shared success instead of zero-sum thinking.
"So," Nia said, gently steering them back, "westward expansion. What's your current thesis?"
As Azeil outlined his emerging argument, the group listened and offered insights he hadn't considered. Angela pointed out gendered language in Manifest Destiny rhetoric. Marcus highlighted indigenous resistance narratives missing from standard textbooks. DeShawn noted economic motivations rarely discussed in history classes.
The conversation flowed naturally, marked by genuine intellectual curiosity rather than performance. Ideas built on each other, challenged assumptions, refined arguments.
Two hours passed like minutes. Real productivity mixed with genuine connection, Zoe's precalculus struggles, DeShawn's upcoming step competition, Angela's application to a summer writing program. Academic and personal intersected freely, breaking down boundaries Azeil had grown accustomed to maintaining.
When they finally packed up, Azeil looked at his revised essay outline with satisfaction. Stronger arguments, deeper analysis, multiple perspectives, not just for a better grade, but for actual understanding.
"You coming next week?" Marcus asked casually, though something in his tone suggested the question mattered.
"Yeah," Azeil said. "If that's okay with everyone."
"More than okay," Angela assured him. "Your textual analysis approach adds something we were missing."
Their acceptance felt genuine, not about status or networking, but about recognizing different strengths. Highland's structured rigor combined with Langston's critical collaboration created something neither could achieve alone.
As they gathered their materials, Nia lingered beside him, her expression pleased but unsurprised. "So?" she asked.
"So," he echoed, understanding the question behind the question.
"It's different. But good different."
"Told you," she said, bumping his shoulder as they headed for the exit. "Different doesn't mean worse."
"Just means different," Azeil agreed, grasping the deeper truth. Different resources, different methods, different measures of success, but the same fundamental education: learning to think more deeply, to question assumptions, to grow through engagement with ideas and people.
Outside, late afternoon sunlight slanted across the concrete steps. Autumn was settling in, bringing shorter days and the promise of winter. Azeil paused, taking in the scene, students heading to after-school activities, teachers carrying stacks of papers to their cars, the familiar rhythms of school life continuing in patterns both routine and constantly evolving.
"Basketball practice?" Nia asked, knowing his schedule almost as well as he did.
"Film study with Zahair first," Azeil said. "Breaking down Jefferson's defense for tomorrow's game."
"Look at you," Nia said warmly. "Film study with Zahair, Thursday study group, critical analysis with Mrs. Washington. Adapting to Langston life on multiple fronts."
Her observation went beyond academic or athletic adjustments. This was integration, Highland's training combining with Langston's approach to create something new. Not just survival, but growth.
"One step at a time," Azeil said, thinking of his conversation with Principal Peterson about intentional engagement.
At the gym entrance, he felt the rightness of standing here with Nia after collaborative study, heading into basketball practice with a revised essay that captured both Highland's rigor and Langston's critical perspective. Not perfectly integrated yet, but coherent.
"Beat Jefferson tomorrow," Nia said, rising on her toes for a quick kiss. "But first, nail that essay tonight."
"Priorities," Azeil smiled, returning the kiss briefly before the gym door opened.
"Carter, we've got film cued up," Zahair called, his tone business-like but warm. "Jefferson's running that 1-3-1 trap that gave Westside trouble."
"On my way," Azeil replied, squeezing Nia's hand once before letting go.
His different worlds, academic, athletic, personal, were finding their rhythm together.
As Nia headed toward the debate team meeting and Azeil turned toward the gym, he felt something settling into place. The C+ wasn't failure but redirection. Limited resources meant creative solutions. Collaborative study was strength, not compromise.
Different tools for different situations, his mother had said. He was building a more diverse toolkit than Highland or early Langston days could have provided alone.
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Between Worlds is a fiction novel by Craig Griffin. New chapters post every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Subscribe to get them delivered to your inbox.